Chapter Thirteen

All is Calm

It was a humbling train ride, to say the very least.

Bill was baffled at first, when her eye peered over her new atlas to see her father kissing Miss Clara. But before they'd even broken apart, she was smiling. In her, admittedly limited, experience, people didn't kiss and then say goodbye. Unless it was a goodbye kiss?

She was baffled again, already, as the train started out and Miss Clara and her father were laughing. She didn't get the joke. Perhaps it was because they were too far away to hear?

She stood and made her way down the aisle toward them. The train wasn't very smooth, and she had to hold onto the backs of seats as she toddled down the center lane. Once she was finally within earshot, she smiled again.

"Papa!"

She fell backward, suddenly, as the train lurched around a tight corner.

John was at her side immediately, Clara right behind him.

"Are you alright, darling?" He asked, carefully scooping his daughter into his arms. "We should stay seated while the train is moving."

"Sorry papa."

He set her back in her seat and pointed something out in her atlas, which she took up excitedly again. Clara took the seat across the aisle as John sat beside his daughter.

It was a strange situation they were in, to have gone from ex-employee and employer to...whatever they were now in the span of a few minutes. Not to mention that they were stuck on a train to Wales that none of them really wanted to be on.

"John, what hospital are you going to work for in Wales?" Clara asked finally, hating the awkward silence that had sprung up between them since the confession and the kiss and the train pulling out.

"It's, er, in Cardiff. I forget the name, if I'm honest." He smiled sheepishly. "Probably not as exciting as London."

Clara smiled as well, but her brain was firing rapidly.

"John...have you ever considered opening your own practice?"

His eyes widened, fingers rubbing together on his lap.

"Yes, actually. I almost did, once. Idris loved the idea…"

His voice trailed off.

"It just never quite worked out. And when she died, I…just kept travelling."

Clara reached across the aisle and took his hand.

"Maybe you can try again?"

He smiled, eyes softening as they focused on her face.

"That would be nice." He turned to his daughter. "And if it went well, I could definitely have more time at home. No more late nights."

He brightened just at the thought.

"Let's do it," Clara said, with that mad smile on her face again.

"Yeah?" His smile widened.

"Yeah."

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

They arrived at the Cardiff flat, a furnished little place overlooking the water. Clara was carrying Bill's bag, telling her all the facts she knew about Wales (which was admittedly few). She stopped when she reached the door, and turned to John. He was frozen still. His eyes were locked on the distant sea.

"John?"

He blinked back into focus.

"Should we get inside?" She asked gently.

He smiled then; a pure, real smile that actually reached his eyes.

"I don't think we're meant to be here."

Clara's brows furrowed.

"Did we read the address wrong?"

He shook his head, that same smile holding on his lips.

"No. But this place just isn't where we're meant to be. It's lovely but...it's not home."

Clara shrugged.

"Maybe it'll be better once we get inside?"

He met her eyes. She understood before he even said it.

"I think my home was in London," he said, ignoring the rush of heat flooding into his cheeks. "With you."

Clara's face lit up. She set Bill's bag on the sidewalk and then threw her arms around John's neck.

"You know, Dr. Smith? I think you're right."

They kissed, for a moment forgetting Bill was standing there. When they broke apart, the young girl was eyeing them strangely.

"Is Miss Clara going to be our family now?"

John turned back to Clara, holding both of her hands.

"Well, Bill. That's up to her." He lowered his voice, "You don't need to answer that right now."

Clara chuckled, though she was admittedly turning pink around the face as well.

"For now," she said, wrapping her arms around John's shoulders. "Yes. If you'll have me."

. . . . . . . . . .

The trains were full for the rest of the day. Add to that Bill's need for a nap, John and Clara's exhaustion, and the sweet little cottage that was all theirs, the Smiths decided to stay in Cardiff for Christmas.

The weather was acting as expected; that is, blustery winds and pelting rain dampened a bit of the holiday atmosphere. But they found that none of that mattered. They had their luggage, beside Clara who, again, had to rely on a strange woman's clothes to change into. They had a few twigs off an evergreen tree to act as a tree. They even had some unbrewed tea, left by the previous occupants, sitting in a cupboard.

Most of all, though, they had each other.

"Bill, you'd better get to sleep," John said with a playful twinkle in his eye. "Tomorrow's a big day."

Bill smiled widely, and the practically dashes into her room to get ready for bed. Clara watched her with a smile, and then leaned deeper into John's shoulder.

The couch was old, but comfortable enough for the two of them. In front of them danced, giving warmth and comfort. All was calm.

"John," she said suddenly, sitting up. "You never opened your gift."

He flashed a smirk.

"I thought it was against the rules to open presents before Christmas."

Clara shrugged, cocking her head.

"If you don't want to, then…"

"Okay," he laughed. "Only I haven't got you anything."

She handed him the gift, wrapped in bright red paper, and then leaned her head on her elbow. He eyed it and then her carefully. Then, he tore into the paper.

"Oh, Clara," he breathed.

It was box filled with paint brushes. A couple of tubes of paint sat in the smaller compartments on the sides.

"Bill found some of your drawings one day," Clara explained quickly. "I thought maybe you'd want to get back into art again sometime."

John gave her a smile that was worth so much more than the gift she'd bought him.

"Thank you, Clara. It's absolutely perfect."

He pulled out one of the brushes and examined it closely.

"Maybe I will. I can decorate our practice, when we open it," he added with a smile.

His arm reached around Clara and pulled her toward himself. And in that moment, Clara felt like the happiest person on the planet. She was sitting in front of the fire, with her head leaned on John's shoulder. Dreaming of a small, happy future in London as they sat comfortable in a Welsh cottage.

She couldn't remember ever being happier.